


i would stop running if i knew there was a chance

by saunatonttu



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Tragedy, unrequited feelings but not really, very lightly implied ryoma/scarlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 07:18:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13141755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saunatonttu/pseuds/saunatonttu
Summary: Xander would never tell him how he felt - even if it killed him.





	i would stop running if i knew there was a chance

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure the tags make it clear but - there is no happy ending here.
> 
> Also, for mood music: Within Temptation's Frozen goes well with this. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays. ;)

When he coughed up pink petals the first time, he couldn’t comprehend the sight of pink petals on his palm for a few agonizingly long moments. Or perhaps he could, because his mind took a trip back to his childhood and the memories of blue rose petals scattered all over mother’s bedroom, but simply refused to acknowledge it for a passing few moments.

                      But the tight feeling in his lungs from the roots entangled in there left no room for dismissal. Xander closed his eyes and swallowed, his hand clenching into a fist around the pale pink _sakura_ petals. It had been a light cough, easily mistakable for clearing one’s throat, but the petals that came with it immediately set a feeling of dread in his stomach.

                      Not now… it couldn’t happen now.

 

 

He did not know exactly why the illness rooted in his lungs and heart decided to act up when they were so close to the finish line in this war – but he could guess. Among other possible reasons, only one existed that had a reasonable chance to trigger such doubt in Xander’s heart that the illness in his lungs would proceed.

                      Ryoma.

                      Although, saying it like that sounded ridiculous even to Xander himself. It was as if he was claiming an allergy against the Hoshidan high prince. An allergy that produced pink petals from the tree of his lungs after Ryoma so much as exchanged kind words with him, which had become more frequent after they had reached an agreement that they could be and were friends.

                      If it was something else to Xander – well, no one needed to know that. There was no room for that emotion in his life, not until Nohr was at peace again and father’s matter settled.

                      Little did he know that closing his heart would be his undoing.

 

 

Ryoma’s smile was a sight Xander couldn’t get used to, no matter how hard he tried to harden his heart to it. Before he would have found it irritating, ignorant even, but… now it was a miracle itself, and it struck Xander’s heart with deadly accuracy. Or maybe the festering roots in his lungs that took his breath from him instead.

                      “It is perhaps too early to jump into this topic,” Ryoma was saying over a cup of steaming tea, eyes half-closed and a small smile tangling on his lips, “but when the war is over, and everything resolved… I would appreciate a chance to get to know Nohr better.”

                      “Likewise,” Xander said. Playing aloof with Ryoma did not work anymore, nor was it even possible when Xander only felt at ease in his company. Even with the branches of pain that slowly grew in his chest, that ease didn’t go away. Abnormal phenomenon, this thing called infatuation. Xander inhaled, the itch in his lungs only slightly bothersome. “There is much I still would like to learn about Hoshido, as well.”

                      About Ryoma, and about... about the past.

                      (Assuming, of course, that Nohr would still have a crown prince after the war was done.)

                      Ryoma’s smile brightened, reaching his warm grey eyes. What a sight to behold for one with as weary eyes as Xander’s. It was more frequent now that Ryoma trusted him – in retrospect, Xander would later muse, perhaps it would have been better if Ryoma had clung to the mistrust and justified prejudice instead.

                      “…I have already told you this before, but it is worth repeating,” Ryoma said, lips curling, “you are indeed a good man, Xander.”

 

 

Not half an hour later, in the safety of his own tent, Xander coughed up what felt like a few dozen petals. The heaving left him reeling and faint-headed, his eyes barely catching sight of the pink petals on the ground. There was no blood, only an uncomfortable amount of saliva, stomach acids, and _sakura_ petals.

                      Closing his eyes, Xander exhaled. There might not be blood, but throwing up alone exhausted him and took his mind for an unnecessary spin.

                      He could only wish these fits of nausea and dizziness would pass soon. There was so much to look forward to in future, after all and for once.

 

 

It did not get better, and continued interactions with Ryoma appeared only to further speed up the progress of the foliage growth in Xander’s lungs – if the growing number of pink petals staining his tent and his fingers were anything to go by. The dizzy spells, too, overcame his head more frequently, sometimes almost severely enough to have him fall off his horse.

                      No one noticed as everyone was tired from these battles, each covered in sweat and dirt and exhaustion. And Xander had a reputation to uphold, as foolishly prideful as that was of him.

                      It was unfortunate that one of those spells struck him as he was walking with Ryoma a few hours after one of the bloodier battles. These walks had become a habit, at first to demonstrate the trust between them in public but then for the sake of each other’s company and friendship.

                      Well, for one of them at least.

                      Xander treasured these moments with Ryoma outside battle and war council. The freedom of walking beside a friend was still new – and the feelings bubbling in his chest even newer, even between the branches of spiking aches. They could never be realistically fulfilled, these feelings, but Xander could have this. The first real friendship in ages… Xander’s heart twisted at the pleasantness of it. Or perhaps it just wanted more than it could have.

                      “Princess Camilla is surprisingly easy to get along with after the initial… issues,” Ryoma was saying to Xander, who just smiled absentmindedly, completely lost in how easy Ryoma’s deep voice was to listen to. “She talks a lot about you, actually.”

                      “Ah,” Xander said, blinking sluggishly, “I’m sure not as much as about Corrin or Elise, though.” Camilla and he had agreed ages ago that they would keep each other’s secrets as if they were their own… not to mention, Ryoma was still an outsider to their tight-knit family, even if he was Corrin’s “actual” brother.

                      “So you might think.” Ryoma gave him a crooked smile, one that made Xander’s heart race as if he were a teenager experiencing his first love. “It’s been nice getting to know the you that she knows so well.”

                      Well, there was a limit to what his half-sister knew, too. Though that thought Xander would keep to himself, even if his head felt not quite right after Ryoma’s smile. His thoughts were slipping. His stern heart had already done so.

                      “I don’t know what you mean by that.” Xander closed his eyes and took a breath to steady the fuzzy feeling in his head. “I haven’t had much time for her, so it’s likely she’s simply remembering how I once was.”

                      Camilla knew how weak-hearted he had been, but even she didn’t know the full extent of it… she didn’t know of his horror at finding his mother in a room full of blue rose petals and spat out blood.  Xander swallowed thickly, the feeling of faintness in his head obvious now as sharp tingling in his chest grew.

                      “You shouldn’t underestimate her… Xander? Xander, what’s the matter?”

                      Xander squeezed his eyes shut, a ringing sensation burning inside his ears. “I’m… fine.” Dizzy, but fine. “I should… go back…”

                      Something tickled at the back of his throat. Xander wrinkled his nose as he pushed the feeling back. “I’m sorry to cut this short, Ryoma.”

                      Ryoma’s hand behind Xander’s back steadied him – he hadn’t even noticed how wobbly he felt. “Easy there. Let’s get you to your tent, then.”

                      “I can go on my own, Prince Ryoma.” Words weak, his tongue already heavy from the petals rolling in the back of his throat, Xander nudged Ryoma’s touch away. It burned someone as touch-starved as Xander.

                      “Nonsense.” Ryoma kept his arm where it had been. The concern in his voice cut Xander’s heart, which was already brimmed with self-loathing. “You look like you might faint any moment now.”

                      He wasn’t wrong, but leaning on Ryoma felt wrong when it meant his thoughts would inevitably go back to the desperately self-indulgent ones. The childish dream of a love that could belong to him and not leave him used and cracked… it festered in him, much like that disease.

                      “It’s not… that bad.” Xander shook his head. “We do not need to cause any senseless talk among the army, anyhow.”

                      “Xander, don’t be silly.” The concern in Ryoma’s voice deepened, although he should be used to Xander’s stubborn nature after these weeks of getting to know it. Xander’s heart relented a little: it had been so long anyone had worried about him genuinely. Had been a long time since he had allowed anyone to. He closed his eyes, his face scorching hot as Ryoma wrapped his arm tighter around Xander.

                      The onslaught of petals tickled his windpipe, leaving his breathless and choking.

 

 

Love… to him, it was a poisonous thing. Toxic to the point where it destroyed him, where it led to him destroying himself. After joining forces with Hoshido and Corrin, he had begun to see it more clearly: his own pathetic dependency issues and his wilful ignorance when it came to father, both supposedly born out of _love_.

                      Father, the man he once was, had given Xander more than he could ever ask for. Love, even while he was strict with Xander’s education and bed time, and a sense of justice and loyalty, though… Xander now knew that sense had been twisted and deformed along the way.

                      Corrin, too, was but an object of a twisted affection born out of selfishness. His need for light in the darkness of Nohr had driven him to care for a child father brought in – even when it was obvious father had plans for the child. Still, Xander had loved, had taken care of the child locked in a fortress with only a handful of servants, had trained her.

                      A self-serving love, that’s what it had been, and it could never be the same again – and it very well shouldn’t.

                      Similarly, these feelings for Ryoma… the need to touch that face, to kiss him… to receive a fond look in return. Nothing but selfish thirst to be loved.

                      It was human to love and want to be loved, but Xander knew how easily his affection turned twisted and obsessive. Trust and loyalty – these concepts had been taught in the worst possible ways in a world where he and his siblings only had each other and where betrayal was met with swift death and a broken heart.

                      And… Ryoma didn’t love him – that was the core of the matter. Ryoma was still in mourning for Scarlet, whose blood-red hair still lingered at the corners of Xander’s mind.

                      Surely it was much worse for Ryoma, who had appeared to love her…

 

 

Waking up in the middle of the night to a fit of coughs and petals bursting out became a usual event, but not to the point where his coughing attracted attention. It certainly never roused Laslow or Peri, and they slept in adjacent tents next to his. He always listened to any sounds with baited breath and the horrible gnawing feeling in his chest, but no one ever peeked in.

                      Tonight, as well, he woke up to himself choking on a mouthful of _sakura_ petals and twigs clawing at his chest from the inside. He had grown used to sleeping on his side a long time ago, as it meant he had a faster reach for the dagger under his pillow, and now it prevented him from choking in his dreams.

                      The lantern hung up high still burned with dim light when he rolled over to fetch the bucket he had been coughing petals into. He retched until there was nothing left to retch, but the strange wetness that slid down his chin… that was worrisome, he knew even before opening his eyes again to see the crimson red bleeding amid the pink in the bucket.

                      The memory of his mother lying in the middle of blue roses and blood had never felt so close and threatening as it did now.

                      What was it like to die at the hands of the weakness of one’s heart? Xander hadn’t wondered it in such harsh words before, but he knew now he would find the answer to that question at the end of this road.

                     

                     

The war councils worsened the situation, especially as he was expected to take the lead with Ryoma and Corrin. At first they had been fine, but the ones following the blood-cough incident were anything but as the feeling of crawling pains in his lungs grew to the point where breathing was work.

                      Sometimes he could feel the roots wrap around his windpipe when Ryoma as much as glanced at him in worry. Sometimes, Xander mistook it for the looks Corrin and Kaze exchanged with one another, no matter how discreet they might be about it.

                      But as soon as he made that mistake, his mind would conjure the memory of Ryoma crouched over Scarlet’s lifeless body, of Ryoma’s grief-stricken posture.

                      Ryoma had cried, then.

                      (A fact of life: Xander had only seen his father shed tears once in his entire life – and it had been over Katerina’s curled body, in a similar posture as Ryoma.)

                      The memory put him in his place at the cost of a short fit of coughs, which interrupted Leo as he was bringing up an issue on something Xander’s mind couldn’t grasp right in that moment.

                      “Brother?”

                      Leo’s voice sounded so distant, garbled, like he wasn’t on the same plane of existence anymore. Xander’s fingers covering his mouth felt damp, hopefully from saliva and not…

                      Ryoma’s hand on the back of his neck startled Xander, and his low whisper had Xander’s heart stutter. “Xander? Are you unwell?”

                      The same nausea as before recoiled in him, and Xander screwed his eyes tighter shut to hold it in, slowly swallowing the thick, wet feeling in his mouth.

                      “Go on,” Xander managed, “you were speaking, Leo.”

                      “Nonsense,” Ryoma said sternly. “You _are_ unwell.”  Then, to Corrin, “Let’s take a break here, sister.”

                      “Don’t be—” And Xander was coughing again, this time feeling the blood in his throat with painful clarity.

 _Don’t be ridiculous,_ he meant to say, but it was him that was truly the ridiculous one here, wasn’t he?

 

 

The sight of blood on his chin and hands naturally scared his siblings out of their minds, Leo included even if he tried to keep his composure and glare Xander into letting Elise or any of the other healers do a check-up on him. It was a valiant attempt, at least.

                      Ryoma, too, appeared distraught – which took Xander by surprise, though… with everything that he had lost, another loss was sure to be painful. Perhaps that was why...

                      It was subtle, but Xander had learnt to detect the signs after staring at that face for so long discreetly over tea time. The slight strain on Ryoma’s cheek bones, the sternness of his brow, and the despair in the warm grey eyes – each struck Xander harder with every glimpse of them.

                      “This isn’t necessary,” Xander tried to tell all of them, but Camilla’s upset face was more than enough to silence him. She wasn’t crying, but her sole visible eye more than conveyed the fear in her heart. _You promised, Xander_ , the look in her eye said. _You promised._

                      And he had – back when he had been younger and gentler at heart and when he hadn’t yet known of the knots within himself.

                      No secrets, he had told Camilla when they had only had each other.

                      It wasn’t the only promise he was breaking, but it sent an ache in his heart regardless. His wellbeing had never been supposed to make it to Camilla’s list of worries.

                      Not only was he failing as the crown prince of his country, but also as an older brother. In everything that had made up the entirety of his life for so long.

 

 

Waking up inside the makeshift infirmary didn’t become any easier in the following days he sent there, his lungs ravaged by the roots that clung deep. Elise or some other healer checked up on him every hour or so, but even without them present Xander was hardly ever alone these days.

                      Laslow and Peri often came, as it was their duty, even if Xander tried to tell them to put their effort into the war that was to be won.

                      “We are, milord,” Laslow told him softly, for once without a twinkle in his eye. “We are doing exactly that.”

                      Peri nodded in agreement, but her make-up was smudged and her hair even more chaotic than usual. Xander couldn’t bear to look at her, knowing he was the reason for her current misery.

                      Asides from them and his siblings – save for Camilla, who was quite mad at him, Ryoma also lingered in his personal space, obviously meaning well but not knowing Xander felt like his death approached faster in his presence.

                      Ryoma looked tired each time he came to visit, sometimes even being there with Xander when he fell asleep and the following morning when he stirred. Those mornings Xander woke to Ryoma’s hair tickling at his cheek, as Ryoma had pulled out a futon beside Xander’s – entirely too close, but probably out of concern that Xander might choke in his sleep otherwise.

                      Even when he was gentle, Ryoma’s presence was suffocating. And Xander, that masochistic part of him that craved more, couldn’t refuse himself from enjoying it. And the pain in him etched deeper with every useless desire like that.

                      “Good morning.” Ryoma, when he woke up, smiled at him. Without his helmet on, his hair was in disarray, locks of brown hair sticking up everywhere. Even with the dark rings beneath his eyes, Ryoma was breath-taking.

                      Or perhaps that was more Xander’s body’s doing: he ended up coughing up blood petals with Ryoma rubbing at his back with a steady hand, even though Ryoma’s expression was anything but steady.

                      “It makes me a little sad,” Ryoma said when the worst was over and Xander was back to lying on the bed, blood wiped from his chin and lips, “that such beautiful flowers accompany such a horrid thing.”

                      Ryoma had never looked as uncomfortable as he did now, but that was the exhaustion, wasn’t it? Not to mention Xander wasn’t the best person to stay around when he was like this.

                      “Beauty comes with ugly things,” Xander offered weakly, unable to stop Ryoma from taking his hand. “Perhaps you wouldn’t know, Prince Ryoma.”

                      Ryoma’s hand was warm, his fingers strong and firm between Xander’s. Even in these moments he could bring comfort to a man as buried in the darkness as Xander… ah.

                      “You’re trying to rile me up to distract me, Xander,” Ryoma chided him, a worn-out smile on his face. “I won’t fall for that now. Not anymore.”

                      Xander’s fingers twitched in between Ryoma’s. The warmth from the skin-on-skin contact seeped through Xander’s bad mood and into his surprisingly fragile heart that had never learnt to let go. Even when nothing he loved ever wanted to stay with him, he still…

                      “I suppose it was a futile effort.” Xander smiled faintly at Ryoma – something in his chest felt lighter, more at ease. Perhaps giving up for real caused it. “I do mean what I said, however. There is no thing that doesn’t have an ugly side to it.”

                      As gorgeous as the feeling was, its side effects were hardly worth the effort. The anxiety, the ache, the… everything. This _illness_.

                      Ryoma’s fingers squeezed his. “You have plenty of negativity in you. Is it all the dark in Nohr?”

                      Xander closed his eyes, clenching his jaw. “Life experiences.” A dead mother, a possessed father, and a personality unsuitable for the ruler of a realm.

                      “Yet you trust Corrin’s light.” Ryoma tightened his grip on Xander’s hand. “Is mine that unworthy to you?”

                      “It… is not like that.”

                      “You tend to brush off my observations on you,” Ryoma said, exhaustion turning his voice sharp. “How am I supposed to view that?”

                      “Ryoma.” Xander held onto the hand in his tighter, refusing to act on the need to brush Ryoma’s hair and tuck the stray strands behind his ears. The nausea curling in him dissipated the need soon, anyhow. “It’s not…”

                      He coughed, a dozen _sakura_ petals huffed straight out of his throat.

                      No blood this time, but nothing could take away the dizzying feeling in his head, especially when Ryoma’s other hand kept stroking at his cheek in attempt to calm him.

                      “Just sleep…” Ryoma needed it far more, however. “Sleep until you get better, Xander.”

                      If only it was that easy.

 

 

“I want to take you to see the real cherry trees in spring,” Ryoma kept telling him, as if Xander had any hope. His voice was wistful, unbearably gentle and unlike anything Xander had ever heard from anyone but Camilla.

                      It killed Xander. Literally. The flowers in his chest grew from Ryoma’s voice and touch, strong and vibrant and _painful_.

                      “Mother used to take my siblings and I to watch them,” Ryoma mentioned in passing, not without some pain in the undertone. “It was… quite wonderful. When Sakura came the first time with us, she was… well, her awe was understandable but amusing.”

                      Late at night, when Ryoma hovered between being awake and asleep, he would share these things to entirely too awake Xander. Perhaps he thought it would put Xander at ease after a full day of healers checking up on him and trying to figure out what the situation in his lungs was.

                      (It was a well-kept secret: Garon had burned all medical texts that spoke of the disease at some point – or perhaps it was Anankos, who didn’t want Garon’s consciousness to return from the memories of his wife.)

                      Xander wouldn’t tell them… even if Elise’s perplexed, miserable worry was excruciating.

                      But she’d be fine. She would be…

                      “Did your mother take you and your siblings anywhere?” Ryoma asked, sleepily, and Xander couldn’t call it discourtesy as Ryoma still didn’t know a thing about his family’s past.

                      “We all have different mothers,” Xander said quietly before he could help himself. “Camilla might remember mine, but I don’t think she spent much time with her.”

                      Ryoma blinked up at him, the question obvious, but Ryoma seemed to remember his manners as he held his tongue.

                      “She’s… she’s dead, yes. Been for a long time.” Xander tried not to think of blue roses and the blood on her face and lips. Tried not to remember his father bent over her, tears streaming down his face.

                      Did father have any regrets?

                      Xander hoped he did.

                      “She used to take me to the inside gardens of Castle Krakenburg,” Xander continued, swallowing when Ryoma’s gaze softened. “Not many flowers survive Nohr’s harsh weather, but mages managed to create a garden for mother. It was… beautiful.”

                      Blue roses had been her favourite – as unnatural as they were – and she had tucked one in Xander’s hair once.

                      Xander inhaled. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

                      “Don’t say that,” Ryoma murmured. “You seem to be in pain. Don’t shrug it off.”

                      Xander was about to argue, as always, but a new fit of coughs interrupted him, huffs of petals flying out, mostly on Ryoma’s shoulders and neck as Ryoma had pulled him into a tight embrace.

                      “You’ll be all right,” Ryoma whispered, but Xander knew it was for self-comfort than anything else.

                      There wasn’t much time left.

 

 

Camilla was… insistent. To the point where any talk with her became an argument regarding his stubbornness on keeping _it_ a secret from Ryoma – somehow, she had figured him out. It came as a no surprise, but Xander resented that nevertheless.

                      She didn’t want him to die, but the choice wasn’t hers – and not even his.

                      Those discussions ended with Camilla close to tears and Xander clutching at his chest in pain and uselessly wishing to spare his siblings from this.

                      (If there was one thing _especially_ that he regretted, it was making his siblings suffer yet another loss.)

 

 

The pain climbed up quickly again with the increased amount of time Ryoma spent with him, possibly at Camilla’s insistence.

                      Peaceful nights, no more. Ryoma holding him made it worse – but Xander’s delusional self couldn’t tell him so, as starved for love and human touch as he was.

                      And Ryoma was warm. And kind. Everything Xander wanted, really, in a person, even though he was horribly stubborn too.

                      But surely… only heartbreak would wait there.

                      Ryoma had lost Scarlet.

                      And Xander was ruined beyond belief already.

                      Feverish and choking in his own feelings, Xander clung to Ryoma through those nights anyway, pride be damned.

                      Ryoma’s fingers running through his golden hair, lips mouthing silent words of comfort, and Xander almost believed Ryoma loved him too.

                      Almost.

 

 

 

Ryoma kissed him, once. Xander didn’t know why, but on one of these nights Ryoma’s lips met his and stayed.

                      Xander’s heart skipped a beat. Once, it would have been an exhilarating feeling, but now it just clawed at his insides like a rake.

                      “Please don’t go,” Ryoma whispered brokenly against Xander’s tingling mouth. “Stay with me.”

                      _I’m sorry_ , Xander wanted to tell him.

                      Instead, he kissed Ryoma back – surely, it was but a dream aroused by his fever and the pain the medicine could not keep at bay…

 

 

“I love you – I love you… Please, Xander… not again.”

 

 

(Dozens of blood-covered petals for a love that wasn’t unrequited at all.)

 

 

When they came in, exhausted and worried but not expecting the worst, they hadn’t expected to see Ryoma curled over Xander, Xander’s head tucked into his shoulder.

                      Even more unexpected were the shoulder-shaking sobs that came from Ryoma.

                      Stunned, no one could find the words – but tears came more easily than anytime before, and Camilla sunk to the floor with her head between her hands.

                      “No, no, no…”

 

 

The end: a room covered in pink petals, but nothing was as covered with them as Ryoma clutching at Xander’s cooling body.

 

 

To this day, he regrets not telling Xander earlier.

**Author's Note:**

> I like this format better on Word, but I'm rly too lazy to edit it today so have this choppy version. c; Merry Christmas, y'all.


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